In a Split Second
by nikkistew2
Summary: Anastasia, shattered by her split with her beautiful, broken man, falls into depression while an obsessed former submissive stalks her every move from the shadows. As Christian builds a path toward reconciliation, a violent struggle takes place, leaving one woman dead and Ana with nowhere to turn...
1. Chapter 0: Introduction & Notes

This is the novel I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo April 2017. Since I was writing quickly, a lot got lost in translation, so I'll be attempting to (heavily) revise each installment before uploading it. I'd really like to thank my cabin mates in the Boot Camp. This group was a very important weapon in my journey to meet the 50k challenge. Though writers don't have to write fifty thousand words, I thought I was a cowboy and kept at it past the deadline to change my goals... I hope mini-meltdown toward the end was worth it.

First things first. This isn't an author's note. This is an author's warning. This story is told in a rather complex manner. There will be numerous perspectives within the same chapter. I also slapped on an altered timeline and a shit-ton of foreshadowing, so I don't want to hear questions or comments like the following:

1\. _That didn't happen in canon._ (This ain't canon. If you want canon, there are at least four books for you to choose from. I've heard there are a couple movies, too. ;-) )

2\. _Leila wasn't that crazy…_ (Um, about that. Do many people come to peace talks packing in your neck of the woods? How would we know? ELJ left us hanging rather precariously in the epilogue.)

3\. _Why so many flashbacks and dream sequences?_ ('Cause I can. BTW, that's the reason for most shit that happens in this world, and just think, that answer was free.)

4\. _Is the narrator a dead girl?_ (Sometimes. Kinda. Yeah. Mostly, it's whoever I wanted to hear from.)

5\. _Don't you have other unfinished stories?_ (Yep, but I wanted to create a new work for NaNoWriMo challenge as suggested).

Thank you for reading. Hopefully, you'll continue reading. Though I like constructive criticism and lively debate, I'd thank you very much to withhold destructive feedback and nonconsensual beta activity.


	2. Chapter 1: The Sir Before

"Despite the rumors, this is my story, and like all tragic love stories, it begins with a man…"

"One… Ugh! Two… mmm!" a woman cried out lustily, shuddering. "Forty-three… Uh! Forty-four! Forty-five! Forty-six! Fuck! Forty-seven… Uh!"

"Quiet! I don't want to hear another word out of you except counting," Master commanded huskily.

Not this man. This man is the Sir before…

"Forty-eight… Forty-nine… argh. Fifty!" the woman shouts, falling forward limply, beads of sweat dripping down her face and hair, her sex, slick with arousal, her ass stinging from the blows of her Master's hairbrush.

He pulls her face roughly toward his crotch. Her lips open and he shoves his cock into her mouth, fucking it, holding her head as she sucked him off.

"Take this cock, Lee-Lee! Don't gag. Suck it down. French kiss the tip. Yeah… like that. That's my good girl. Suck it down like the naughty slut you are. Yeah. Uh. Mmm. Yeah. It's good and hard now. Bend over and assume the position."

Lee-Lee falls to her hands and knees, placing her head and chest flush against the bed, arching her lower back, causing her shoulders to dip with her ass riding high, thighs open wide, presenting herself to her Master.

Master blindfolded her with a long, wide strip of black silk. His rough hands grasped each breast in turn, twisting her nipples, attaching weighted clamps to the erect flesh. He places himself firmly behind her, reaching between her legs to attach the clitoral clamp, forming a harness.

Master took a plaited leather crop with small wooden beads, lightly smacking her over-sensitized flesh. Using lighter strokes along her thighs, reaching to place a light tap on her swollen clit, massaging the stiffened leather between the dripping lips of her cunt, pantomiming frottage. He then dragged the saturated end between her ass cheeks, teasing her rosebud. Lee-Lee trembled from the sensations wracking her body.

Master's footsteps retreated. He returned with a jar, opening it, releasing a minty aroma. Lube, she guessed. A slurping sound as he dipped his fingers in the water-based ointment, gathering a liberal amount on his fingertips, slathering it between her cheeks, across her rosebud, pressing against the resistant flesh, massaging two, then three, fingers inside her tight orifice.

"Have you been preparing my ass for me, Lee-Lee?" he demanded gruffly in a tight, husky voice.

"Yes, Master. This girl has prepared Sir's ass," she replied softly.

"Good girl," he responded with a slap to her clit, causing the weighted clamp to shake, sending a delicious thrill up her spine, reverberating within her heated core.

Master began to slowly press his largest butt plug into her ass, Lee-Lee squirming at the pressure of insertion, her flesh opened obscenely wide, displaying the ring, pink and pouting, stretched to the max. He pressed a button, causing the plug to vibrate, causing her to tremble and moan softly. Master reached between her legs, yanking the clamp harness harshly, causing the rounded, blunt teeth to dig into her sensitive flesh, quieting her after a brief hiss of agony.

An alert sounded. Master quickly mounted his girl, slamming his cock deep into her wet pussy, his balls slapping wildly against her clit, sending her nerves into overdrive. She fruitlessly attempted to push her ass into him to deepen his stroke, but he held onto her hair with one hand, and pushed her back down firmly, foiling her efforts. Juddering with the beginnings of orgasm, she almost huffed in annoyance as he released his hand from her hair, touching her inner thighs, motioning for her to widen them further.

The vibrating plug continued pulsing maddeningly within her bowels as he slowly pulled his cock from her pussy, quickly replacing it with a very thick, extra-long silicone vibrator. She felt so full, penetrated in both orifices. Master smacked the butt-plug over and over, jolted her body, before swiftly extracting it and stuffing his cock inside before her sphincter could collapse, sealing him out.

Though I knew from the beginning that Sir was somewhat of a BDSM dabbler at best, he was kind to me, and charming in his own way. Very thoughtful, since the very beginning. We both realize he's practically old enough to be my father, but he takes very good care of himself and me. Older men seem to know how to take care of their women, even if they don't love them. I know he's in it mostly for anal sex, something most men can't get at home. Say whatever you like. Older men can afford the best toys.

He groaned at the tightness of her ass. Anal sex was sublime. His tight-ass, bitch of a wife wouldn't let him ass-fuck her and he didn't want the hassle of hiring escorts. BDSM solved the conundrum. He wasn't paying for sex, he was enabling his sub to cede control. It wasn't prostitution, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Thus, he wasn't paying her for her service, he was facilitating a reciprocal experience.

And it would be over all too soon, he thought mournfully as he pounded relentlessly into Lee-Lee's ass. Once again, his wife had 'caught' him. Every year or so, she would become suspicious and check all of the accounts, ask for his calendar to 'coordinate' with hers or track his mileage and GPS to determine his whereabouts. Before, he had had a string of discreet affairs, but the fallout was usually messy and hard to contain. But his wife had the instincts of a bloodhound. Sometimes he wondered if she'd had his cock was lo-jacked. And in three hours, his arrangement with Lee-Lee would be no more. Bitter anguish caused him to increase the intensity of his strokes. God, he would miss the fuck out of this ass!

His cellphone rang, knocking him slightly off his stride, yet he continued to slowly fuck her ass as he commanded her to make no sounds. He began gyrating his hips as he reached to pick up. Fuck, it was his daughter! What the hell did she want now? He slid into a seated position, pulling Lee-Lee onto his lap, motioning her to ride his cock with her ass. If he didn't have this ass to keep him calm, he would've exploded with rage when his daughter proceeded to inform him of the trouble she'd gotten up to in college.

His daughter, though, was a piece of work. He got a call almost every other session, usually demanding something or other guaranteed to drive his blood pressure up, the little veins in his forehead and neck pulsating with rage… The spoiled 'heiress' to a business neither she nor her brother will inherit.

It wasn't like she was a fucking Rhodes scholar. She was attending the equivalent of a community college, but her grades had slipped. Again. She should've been able to get into a more competitive, higher-rated institution, but her reputation preceded her. Thank fuck for her roommate who had injected a modicum of sense into her with her down-home values or else he could imagine the hijinks that his slut of a daughter could get up to.

"Daddy, I need help. My ethics teacher is going to fail me!" she whined. "This is so unfair! She's only putting so much pressure on me because I'm your daughter!" she complained.

"Why is she gonna fail you? Did you not hand in assignments or flunk a test?" I inquired, grateful that Lee-Lee had reached her arms between her legs and begun massaging my balls with purpose. Damn, the woman had arms like an orangutan. She kept fucking hard on her downstrokes, too. She was a machine.

"Well, she had a problem with my midterm paper. She claimed I didn't adequately cite my sources. As if!" she sniffed. "Now she wants me to re-do the works cited page for 10 percent less credit!"

"Her demand sounds reasonable. She's most likely already graded everyone else's paper. Your mishap is going to cost her more work."

"But Daddy, what about Spring Break?" she whined.

I wondered why she didn't just fuck the boys at her college. Did they look better in Miami or something when she's playing peek-a-boo with the directors of Girls Gone Wild? Her roommate seems to do most of the heavy-lifting. I don't think the girl's typed a single paper since school began…

"Then I'd suggest you get to work!"

"I knew I should've called Mom. You have absolutely no compassion for the pressure I'm under."

If my cock could deflate, invoking her mother would've killed my hard-on, but thanks to my blue pill, I still had a couple hours to spare. I leaned forward, pushing Lee-Lee back on all fours as I attempted to pile drive the lining of her ass into her uterus.

"Listen, honey. I'm always concerned for your welfare, but if you want that internship, ya gotta buckle down, put your nose to grindstone and do the fucking work!"

"Thanks for nothing!" she yelled, hanging up the phone.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed in disgust. My spirits rose a notch as I began to caress Lee-Lee's body, slick with sweat. The evidence of our silent endeavors had soaked into the sheet. Grateful for the waterproof mattress cover beneath it, I slid out of her ass and pulled her into the en-suite where we would enjoy an invigorating shower.

Soaping eachother's bodies, I rubbed my cock against her asshole again. I was still sporting a hard-on that wouldn't quit. She cooperated by bending over slightly, pressing her hands against the wall, allowing me easy access. I briefly dipped my wick into her honeypot, stirring her up and lubing my cock before reaching around to quickly snatch off her harness and shove my cock in her ass as she began to orgasm, as cum poured out of her pulsating snatch.

"Ugh! Oh! So fucking good, Lee-Lee. Such a good fucking girl. Ahh… Fuck! Fuck! Ahh!" I cried out as my cum started shooting deep inside, painting her hot, tight walls. I began to furiously massage her clit in tight circles as I wanted to feel her writhe and quiver against me as I fucked the rest of the cum out of my body, down to the very last drop. Had to make it count. I didn't know when I'd get high-quality ass like this again.

We finished after she had another very powerful orgasm. Not many women come during anal, so she was a queen amongst women. She liked the pain and strain of a hard fuck. You could ride her like a fucking horse and she'd beg for the crop. I wish we could've made this a long-term arrangement, but seven months was a good run. But it's not like she didn't know I had a wife and family prior to the contract. Besides, we both knew I wasn't the kind of Dom she signed on for. I'm a dabbler at best. I just wasn't into all the kink and pain shit she wanted. I just wanted to fuck a frequently forbidden hole without getting anyone's dander up. If I just wanted pussy, I could fuck my wife.

I dried her off carefully, but roughly dragged the towel across my body. I wanted to be in this moment. Her long, dark hair, soulful brown eyes, soft skin and small frame. For a moment as she turned, I caught her in profile with the light angled just so, and fuck if she didn't look like my daughter's fucking roommate! Fuck, that was a disgusting realization! Ana is like another daughter to me. Well, that helped deflate my cock a tad. I suddenly felt much better about ending the contract.

We dressed, her slowly, seductively. I, hastily, jerking my clothes on and covering myself like a Regency maiden protecting her virtue. I wanted to be anywhere but here. She must've felt me mentally pulling away because she smiled tentatively at me, a question in her eyes. Then I said the most ominous fucking words ever formed into a sentence: "We need to talk."

She looked wounded. I guess she had some expectations as we had just renewed our contract last month. "I'm sorry. My wife, she found out about us, so I have to let you go."

She smiled wryly and said, "So this is it, huh?"

"Yes, I'm sorry it has to be this way. I've enjoyed our time together very, very much, but I can't leave my wife," I said.

"Can't or won't?" she inquired.

"Look. Deny all you like, but we both understood this was a possibility considering my circumstances. But haven't I been good to you?" I asked patiently. Despite her age, she seemed rather innocent. Then again, so do praying mantises before they devour their mates. "I took the liberty of looking into some of the art programs you've mentioned over the last few months. I can get you into one of these three institutions," I explained, pulling out a few brochures for her perusal. Her eyes lit up. In the end, it's all about the money. The course fees, letter of reference from someone else of course, and a cashier's check for twenty five large and we went our separate ways. C'est la vie.

Another Master has left me. I'm a great sub. Everyone tells me so, yet none of them want to keep me. I have practically no limits, and I'm very good looking. I keep myself supple, and well-groomed. I even have an interest in the fine arts which makes me appear 'cultured'. I'm quiet, unobtrusive. I like to blend in. Usually, if people don't notice you, they don't send you away. Nobody would ever guess I was the product of trailer trash before I was adopted by the Williams. It was a very private, closed adoption. My birth parents' names aren't even on my original (and only) birth certificate. My adoptive parents weren't rich by any stretch, but they had access to the right people at the right time and ta-da! Newborn!

I need to call Mistress. She likes bad news immediately. Hopefully, she'll assign me another Dom soon. I'm due for a wax anyway. Ah! I contacted Mistress. She explained that I was in luck. There's a Dom that she's looking to match and if I get my health screening, she can introduce us in a month. She was able to give me a brief sketch of his requirements: pale, petite and brunette is his preference. He also like various implements and very rough sex. So far, this sounds like kismet. If I had remained under contract with Master Kavanagh, this narrow window of opportunity would've closed.


	3. Chapter 2: The Procurer

procurer (prəˈkjʊərə) or feminine procuress  
n.  
a person who procures (someone who obtains or acquires), esp one who procures women or girls as prostitutes, a pander or pimp.

whoremaster, whoremonger

Mrs. Elena Lincoln is a well-known matchmaker in BDSM circles. I've also heard her referred to as a procurer in equally hushed and scandalized tones. We look on in amusement as terms like prostitution, West Coast Madam and escorts are bandied about. They have no idea what she's done for us, the subs.

She's almost singlehandedly put the "safe" in "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by creating a framework for Tops and bottoms to properly screen one another before meeting or scening for the first time. She seems to know everyone in the scene, and every little thing about them. Their likes and dislikes, habits, finances, professions and addresses. That's far more than one knows on the average blind date. Vital if you intend to fuck or be fucked, or G-d forbid gagged, bound or otherwise at dubious mercy of another. So, she more than deserves the respect she's granted.

While almost anyone can practice BDSM, it's not really a lifestyle for the very poor. Domination and submission don't work very well under duress. Who wants to leave their safety in the hands of Fetlife? Just going to the clubs requires a membership, but even at half a grand per year, it's no real guarantee of safety.

Enter Mrs. Lincoln. She's practically an urban legend. Someone sees the "Mrs." in front of her name and instantly sees 'Missus' but no, that's Mistress to the unwashed… But who really cares anyway? She managed to walk away from her marriage with money to burn and has a chain of very exclusive salons to prove it.

There's an Esclava in all the best communities in Seattle, the flagship salon located in the prestigious Bravern Center. She'd been featured in several news outlets as one of the most phenomenal female entrepreneurs. As a Domme, Mistress walked the walk. She was wealthy, powerful and had her own sub. People clamored to be trained by her, but more so be matched by her because she made the best connections. One could belong to the most exclusive clubs and not set up a better contract. She always made sure that they had the best terms and that neither party got shafted.

So many subs had gotten themselves contracted to abusive Doms and to their horror quickly found out that pain to their bodies paled against financial suffering. Subs, basically required to totally relinquish their finances to irresponsible Doms, were often repaid for their submission with bad credit scores and financial devastation. I knew one sub had been ordered by her Master to turn over custody of her minor children to her ex-husband since he wanted TPE and didn't feel their home-life would be conducive to raising them. Less than a couple years later, she returned a total wreck. No money. No children. And no Dom.

Mistress Lincoln put paid to crap like that. There were no unfortunate and ugly surprises lurking to disturb one's peace of mind. So while it was bad news that Mr. K had ended our contract just as it had been renewed, it hadn't come as a complete surprise. At least not to Mrs. Lincoln. Nothing surprised Mistress.

She had given me a complete profile of Sir before we began scening, so I knew he was a beginner, a BDSM dabbler and philanderer. I usually didn't choose arrangements with Doms who were married, regardless of their 'open' relationships, because they never seemed to end well. Jealousy always played a part, causing undue tension and increasing risk. Risk that Mistress explained was completely unnecessary as long as I remembered my place and maintained the proper emotional distance.

Under her tutelage, I was able to explore a greater degree of submission as I could trust the Doms selected for me would treat me well and not abuse my mind or my body. After signing with Mistress, I never once had to safeword because no-one violated my hard limits. Although my soft limits were often challenged, I never had to worry about my wellbeing. This equated to far more freedom and latitude. I had much more time to dedicate to enriching activities which enhanced my personal satisfaction.

Payment for personal care was often built in so a sub wouldn't have to pay for it. Just show up and have their sets, trims and waxes done since these services were part and parcel of our submission. Best idea ever. There were so many subs coming out of pocket for things they could honestly care less about. Between Doms, sure one had to take care of oneself, but when you're under the control of another person, it's that individual's responsibility to make sure the sub's needs are met. Mistress insisted that what she considered reasonable expectations were built into every contract. Sure, it may have seemed like a major investment on the front end, but the overall satisfaction of both parties proved that her methods paid dividends. The only thing the sub should have to worry about was pleasing his or her Master.

Yes, that was another thing. People often made the assumption that only women made good subs. Not only incredibly sexist, but ill-informed critics were shocked when they witnessed the high volume of heterosexual men who wanted to bottom. That was another fallacy. That men who wanted to bottom were either essentially effeminate and/or gay. How far they were off the mark!

The only problem, if one could call it that, I saw with BDSM was that it seemed to be the catchall for every element of the community. And even that often worked as a benefit. There were all types of people, from all walks of life that wanted to enrich their lives while having their deepest needs met. It wasn't all whips and chains. It was meet-and-greets, munches and even family-oriented events for those that were so-inclined. Family was usually one of the first casualties when one 'outed' oneself as alternate.

The subs had it the worst. Just because we like to be told what to do and how to do it, doesn't necessarily mean that we desire to be humiliated or subjected to unconscionable acts. Yes, there are quite a few 'slaves' in the community, but that's a choice and a way of life. There aren't many of us called to that particular aspect of submission. Making someone else's whims the total focus of one's life is far more control than the vast majority of us are willing to consider.

With BDSM, there were no worries about 'no' meaning no. Opportunities for misunderstanding and confusion were significantly reduced as open communication was its hallmark. Not having to disguise one's leanings was a relief and resulted in fewer faked orgasms. 'Red' ended everything. There weren't many in the scene that would dare to ignore a safeword. First, no-one would want to sub for them again. Second, they could be blacklisted. Third, and this was the worst punishment by far, being left to a vanilla lifestyle, hoping some 'norm' would accept even a trickle of one's kink. It was death by degrees and never in any way worth contemplating.

Maintaining a strong reputation was key. Trust was vital. Especially when problems cropped up as they generally do. In the battle of "He say/she say" it was always best to be on the side of the angels because we never wanted to take our issues to court. I could see it now…

"So, you signed this contract (scoffing while waving the pages of the contract in the air, no doubt) saying Mr. A could whip, flog, and penetrate your vagina with various objects, but you want this Court to have him incarcerated for 'caressing' your feet?"

So sure, we all had our kinks but they were usually as different as fingerprints. We were all extra special snowflakes and there was no way any court in the land would be able to protect us if things went south. First, there was an accepted bias against things that were considered different, along with the prevalent attitude that you got what was coming to you for being a deviant. Second, 'proof' of your consent (usually in the form of a BDSM contract) was often used against you, even if it wasn't blanket consent. The mindset was if you accepted X and Y, Z must surely have been a given. Third, even the best contracts couldn't cover every eventuality. If they did, contracts would be thicker than the Bible or Gone With The Wind.

That's why I found myself really pissed with the way Sir dumped me. We had just renewed our fucking contract! I needed that feeling, the exertion, the rush of completion. Especially after that last scene. He hardly ever gave it to me so good. I thought this was the beginning of a deeper relationship, that he'd moved up from merely dabbling to enacting more complex scenes, but he probably had his eyes on the door the whole time. I felt used and humiliated. And the check and the school brochures he gave me did absolutely nothing to diminish that emotion. He may as well have given me a pat on the head on my way out.

Anger isn't a good look for me. Neither is frustration. Before I met up with Mistress, I was going to need a stiff drink to fortify myself. I hadn't had one in a while, since drinking and scening don't tend to mix well. It's important to keep one's wits about them and alcohol thins the blood which can cause a bad reaction in heavier play. Since it would take some time to select a new Dom, I had some time to kill and could afford a buzz.

After I'd left the corporate apartment Sir and I used as a love nest, I decided to take a walk to work out some of my frustrations. Somehow, I'd ended up standing right outside The Pink Door, which I'd heard was a fairly popular watering hole. Though it seemed quite crowded, I decided to try my luck at the bar since I was alone. There were a few empty seats, so I chose the seat closest to the bartender. If I was going to get drunk, I wanted to be able to get his attention as quick as possible.

Intent on my drink, I barely noticed the Ivy Leaguer who sidled up next to me until he spoke to me in a gentle voice. "Why is a pretty lady like you sitting alone, crying into her drink?"

I was crying? I hadn't noticed. I touched my fingers to my face to find my cheeks wet with tears. He offered me a handkerchief he pulled from the pocket of his blue blazer. Guess I'd been feeling a lot more maudlin than I'd thought.

"Thank you," I replied brokenly as I used his handkerchief to lightly dab my face so I wouldn't end up blotchy on top of everything else. As I made to hand his soiled handkerchief back to him, his hands covered mine, and he told me to keep it. Damn. Even with a $50,000 check practically burning a hole in my bag, his was the most generous offer of the night.

He looked young, but not so young that I'd worry about being arrested, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, and very blond with penetrating green eyes. A lovely combination with his hands, warm and strong, still resting on mine. Between the smell of wax, ambient lighting and his hand on mine, I could almost pretend we were a pair of up-and-comers on a first date, and tonight I wanted to be anyone else other than Leila Williams, recently discarded submissive.

"Would you like to come back to my place?" he asked, drinking me in with his eyes. There it was: desire. I had wondered, since he was being so kind, if this was a pickup. "We could just talk. No pressure."

"Well, you do already have my hand in yours. You could just toss me over your shoulder and be done," I purred seductively.

"Well, I could, but that wouldn't be quite civilized, now would it? Besides, I thought I'd at least offer you the illusion of a fighting chance" he murmured, blushing. So delicious. I didn't realize men could still blush in this day and age. I suddenly felt better as I took control of the situation. It wasn't a normal thing for me, but I could do so in a pinch. At this rate, he'd be trying to seduce the wooed all evening and he definitely deserved a nice reward for lifting my spirits. Hmm, first things first though.

"Do I at least get to know the name of my abductor?" I acquiesced with a slow smirk.

"Ethan. Yours?"

"Call me Lee."

The next morning, after a surprisingly wild night in his hotel suite, I left him in his bed, breathing quietly and sleeping like the dead. I had a date with Mistress.

Rushing back to my apartment, I had time to take another shower with my own bodywash and shampoo and condition my hair. I put my hair into a sleek chignon after blow-drying it. After applying some light makeup, I slipped on a pair of white silk panties, a balconette bra and thigh high pantyhose with a garter belt. I wore a very conservative two-piece skirt suit in robin egg blue with a lace-trimmed white blouse, finishing the look off with a pair of three-inch heels and a white clutch. For some reason, Mistress liked for all the subs she sponsored to dress like executives. Anything less was considered slovenly.

I made my way directly to Mrs. Lincoln's office. I didn't even stop at the reception desk, as I was expected. I sat outside her office until she finally opened her office door saying. "Ah! Right on time. Love that suit."

Giving me an appreciative once-over, she asked me to turn around. "Come in. Don't just stand there. So, I'm to understand that you've ended your contract with your previous Dom?" she asked pleasantly. I was surprised she sounded so upbeat since I'd expected her to be pissed, at least on my behalf, but she was giving me an almost Cheshire-cat grin instead of her usually impassive expression.

"Yes," I replied neutrally, not knowing what to expect.

"Well, I have some good news and very good news for you. First, your contract couldn't have ended at a better time. That man did not deserve your submission. I think you and I discussed the ramifications of choosing a gentleman so new to the scene, didn't we?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied tightly. What I recall her telling me was that he was new, but highly motivated. While she had explained that he was married, she'd never intimated that he was playing a game of peek-a-boo with his highly suspicious wife, and that any arrangement could end at the drop of a hat, or discovery.

"Well, the very good piece of news is that I've found you a positively fabulous replacement. You will be thanking both me and your lucky stars once you meet him," she crowed confidently. "So, we'll need something extra. I'll need you to sign this contract and look over a preliminary contract, subject to your limits."

The first document was a nondisclosure agreement. While it was quite in-depth, it was not especially egregious, so I quickly signed and initialed every place with a sticky tab. The BDSM contract was very liberal considering some of the contracts I'd signed off on in the past. Looking at Mistress, I began to wonder if I was missing something as I caught a suspicious glint in her eye.

"Well, Ms. Williams," she drawled, turning around her monitor for me to have a look. "I think it's about time you met your prospective Dominant, don't you?"

Fuck. Me. The man in the photo was Christian Grey!


	4. Chapter 3: Grey Days

I'd like to thank Thirst for staying up with me past midnight to pre-read this chapter and bounce ideas back and forth.

A/N: This is a WARNING. There will be some light femslash toward the end of this chapter. If you cannot tolerate woman-on-woman smut, skip the last 400-500 words. OK 1000+ words…

 _Christian Grey._

No matter how I said it, the fact that the man with the penetrating gaze pictured before me was the elusive billionaire Christian Grey rendered me completely and utterly gobsmacked. For years, much of the Washington population who gave a shit had assumed Christian Grey was a closeted homosexual.

Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined someone like Mr. Grey was part of the scene, but then I recalled thinking just the other day that BDSM catered to all kinds, for any kind of flavor one could desire, or need, there was a recipe guaranteed to satisfy. Obviously his tastes must be far more varied than vanilla. Despite my early-morning tryst with preppy from last night, my thighs clenched together and I felt myself become a vault of deep, throbbing need.

As Mistress relinquished her computer so I could peruse his electronic file, I looked beyond his rather stunning photo to examine his personal stats, I was in a state of shock. Not only had she included his height and weight, dimensions for the breadth of his shoulders and width of his waist, she even had the length and circumference of his cock listed! This was the most comprehensive, and invasive, profile I'd ever seen. I began to wonder if she was selling me or him. At least I now knew that none of the suit he was wearing was padded; it was all him.

He plays the piano. I think his file could've ended there. I can't think of a single red-blooded woman who's seen Pretty Woman and not imagined getting nailed over the keys whilst making beautiful music…

Instead, information regarding proposed clothing allowance, health insurance, spa visits and scheduling completed his profile. Strange. Thorough, but strange. Except for the note at the bottom of the page regarding his hard limits. Mistress would discuss his overall requirements including his hard limits.

"Never touch him without his express permission," her stern voice broke into my reverie, "Never attempt to touch him at all. Never look into his eyes. Do not speak until spoken to, and only when given permission. You are to be seen and not heard. Do not disturb him while he is conducting business unless told otherwise. Is this understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, while secretly wondering if this guy was a fucking Gremlin. _Don't put it near light, especially sunlight, it can kill them. Don't let it get wet with water nor give it any water to drink nor bathe it. No matter how much it cries or begs, NEVER feed it after midnight._

"Are you listening?" Mistress inquired silkily.

"Yes, ma'am." I lied, sure she'd seen right through me. "I was just considering these very specific hard limits. It might be difficult to engage in very rigorous sexual acts without being able to touch him."

"Trust me, it'll work," she claimed shortly. "Mr. Grey is an extremely wealthy man and an excellent Dom. If you play your cards right, you will find him to be quite generous. He's also a very busy man, as billionaires often are, so he won't have time to deal with any of the usual growing pains within this type of arrangement."

"Pardon me?" I asked incredulously.

"There will be no idle chitchat. You're not dating him. You won't be his girlfriend. You will be his submissive. Period. If you're harboring any delusions of some grand future romantic liaison, you must purge them forthwith, because Mr. Grey doesn't do hearts and flowers. What he will do is fuck you within an inch of your life and test your limits to the extreme. It will prove an exhilarating and illuminating experience," she droned on.

I didn't understand how that would work. Everything changes. Relationships evolve and grow. The constraints of this arrangement appeared to be quite narrow. But fuck, just look at him!

"Alright. Where do I sign up?" I assented.

"Starting now. You'll need to meet with the OB/GYN selected by Mr. Grey to have some labs done. When the results come in, you'll be furnished with his labs as well. I'll need you back in a week and a half from now for some intensive treatments. Your skin looks a tad dry. You'll also have to be waxed everywhere. Mr. Grey desires to see hair only on a woman's head, eyebrows and eyelashes. Have you considered electrolysis? Also, no more hair coloring, no highlights, dyeing or lightening. Leave your hair its natural brunette shade," she directed.

"What if I do all this and Mr. Grey doesn't want me?" I asked. It was a hell of a commitment with no guarantee of return. As I completed that thought, an alert sounded on Mistress' cellphone. She gazed at the display with an inscrutable expression, then looked at me.

"Mr. Grey is satisfied with your current appearance," she stated.

"But that was just a picture," I replied. "He may not be happy with me in real-time."

"Oh, I assure you that Mr. Grey has signed off on you already. If you could just turn around and wave at the cameras."

This was a webcam interview? How long has he been watching me? I felt repulsed yet turned on at the same time. I'm sure Mistress only let him see select portions of this meeting. Discretion was key. It wouldn't have done for her to be witnessed discussing other Doms or arrangements by another client. Exhaling with relief, I contemplated my new situation.

The idea of Christian Grey being my Dom filled me with excitement and pride. This man could have almost anyone he wanted, and he'd chosen me. It really made me wonder what his kink was.

Less than a week after I signed the NDA and had my labs done, I once again found myself in front of Mistress' desk. She held out an envelope with an official-looking seal. Even before opening it, I knew it must be Mr. Grey's reciprocal labs. After looking over the three page results, I was satisfied that letting him fuck me wouldn't be life-threatening.

I was horrified, to say the least, when Mistress Lincoln informed me that my results hadn't been quite as stellar. I'd had the beginnings of a yeast infection and had apparently caught the clap from my one-night stand, which I'd had to cop to lest she be forced to contact Mr. K. Damn, how humiliating that would've been!

"Ms. Williams, I certainly hope I don't need to explain to you the perils of unsafe, indiscriminate sex."

"No, Mistress," I whispered hoarsely, cringing in shame. No excuses would be sought or accepted. I'd just blown a chance of a lifetime on a guy I'd probably not recognize in a police line-up.

"Luckily for you, Mr. Grey wasn't quite as perturbed and disgusted as I thought he'd be. I assured him this lapse on your part was anomalous, and unlikely to occur again. Needless to say, you will not be meeting in person until you've finished your course of antibiotics," she said, handing over a small white bag.

"He's overseas on business at this time, which I suspect saved your lily-white ass, but I wouldn't breathe easy just yet. He requested that I pick this up for you and see it properly installed," she continued, taking out a case and opening it.

"Is that…?" I began to ask.

"Yes, it's a chastity device," she replied shortly. "To make it simpler for you, he also included some Ben Wa balls, a pair of dice, an anal plug and bells for your nipples."

What in the hell? She took out a large plastic Ziploc bag. "Take off your bra and panties and place them in this bag," she commanded briskly.

I suddenly looked over my shoulder. Was Mr. Grey watching me right now? Did he notice my hesitation? I should be grateful that he hadn't already written me off. I reached beneath my skirt, jerking down my g-string, then slowly unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall off my shoulders. I snapped the bra open as the one I was wearing today fastened at the front, letting my breasts spill out. Mistress' blue eyes had dilated as I began shedding my undergarments. Fuck! Let her enjoy the show too, and send in the clowns while she was at it!

I snatched the bag from her slackened grasp and roughly stuffed my underwear inside. As I donned my blouse once again, an alert sounded from her cell. Mistress Lincoln dragged her eyes from her lingering perusal of my body. Ah. She swung both ways. Good to know.

She spoke in hushed tones for a few moments, sending glances in my direction, nodding at times, then gazed over my shoulder, no doubt looking in the direction of a camera, with a wide grin, nodding twice and terminated the call. Mistress beckoned me to her, commanding me to bend over, placing my hands on the desk. Moving behind me, she drew her hands over my body, outlining my curves.

"Have you voided today?" she demanded.

"Yes, Mistress," I promptly replied.

"Hmm," she grunted, as her fingers moved beneath my skirt, probing my naked sex. Lightly ghosting her fingers over and around my engorged clit. Her frame, taller than mine, pressed my body into the desk as she took one hand, tweaking my nipples to stiffened peaks. She removed the hand beneath my skirt, and brought it to my lips, motioning for me to suck two of her fingers. I opened my mouth, my tongue tentatively probing her long, narrow, manicured digits, lubricating them.

She slid down on her knees behind me, lifting my skirt, exposing my ass and garter belt holding up my thigh-high hose. She held my cheeks open, landing ringing slaps on each one in turn. My fluids leaking from my folds, creamy against my pouting labia. Mistress took the fingers I sucked, abruptly ramming them to the hilt, massaging my inner walls, applying pressure on the front wall, while massaging my clit with her thumb. As I felt the rippling of an impending orgasm, she removed her fingers and filled my pussy with the Ben Wa balls from the case Master supplied her.

As I attempted to shift from the uncomfortable pressure and temperature, Mistress slapped my ass again hard, right where the bottom of the cheek meets the upper thigh. She lifted each leg in turn, lightly turning it. Then she placed the chastity belt on me, pulling it taut, with the balls still inside!

With a turn of the locks, I was, in effect, in bondage. I would be depending on Mistress to release me to even void, or clean myself. Was this my punishment for fucking Ethan and getting the clap? If I ever see that nasty son of a bitch again, I'll slice off his cock as a public service.

Just when I thought she was done, she attached clover clamps to my nipples. Mrs. Lincoln stood up, strode to her private bathroom and began vigorously scrubbing her hands. Then she carefully dried them, following up with a moisturizer. If I didn't feel like a filthy slut before, she'd sealed the deal.

Returning to her place behind the desk, she began typing on her computer. I knew that I wasn't expected to speak. I'd been a sub long enough to interpret a Dom's body language and her body was screaming, "shut the fuck up!"

I stood in silence, awaiting her next command. I didn't have to wait long as a sheet of paper came out of her printer. She looked at me impassively, handing me the paper.

"These are your errands for today. Read the list carefully, as you will not be taking it with you. Straighten your clothes, and leave. Everything on the list must be completed and you must return by end of business day, or I will not be available to release you. Each task on the list not completed will count as an infraction. You may begin," she commanded curtly in dismissal.

Thank fuck there were only eight items on the list! The first task was to roll the die from the case on Mistress Lincoln's desk. I did it an rolled a nine. The second task was to return everything to the case, but I couldn't do that as I wouldn't be able to return everything until I came back from the other six errands. The following six items would have me running all over Seattle with clover clamps with bells on my nipples, a chastity belt, Ben Wa balls up my snatch while wearing no underwear!

It seemed like most of the errands were for the salon. I guess I was destined to be Greta's gopher today…

With only half hour left, I arrived at Esclava, panting with exertion and trembling with need, thighs sticky with arousal. I approached Mistress' desk with a grimace. She looked at all the items I had purchased with my own money, while ostensibly checking each one against her list. I'd even had to retrieve her dry cleaning.

"You forgot the conditioner I ordered. That will be one infraction. Along will the nine you rolled earlier, you will serve a total of ten punishments before you will be able to touch your Master's cock," she stated with relish. "You have twenty minutes left to complete your tasks."

I hurriedly replaced the rest of the items into the case, and assumed the position so Mistress could release me from my bonds. Whatever a Dom puts on a sub, that sub cannot remove without that Dom's permission, whether it be clothes, clamps or cum, the sub must wear it with pride.

Mistress leisurely strolled around her desk, lifting my blouse and removing the clover clamps. My nipples cried out in relief. Next she lifted my skirt, disassembling the chastity device. She commanded me to squat, reaching past my arousal to retrieve the soaked Ben Wa balls.

"If you want to cum, sit your ass on my desk and masturbate. This will be your last release before Master Grey returns," she explained.

I almost wanted to refuse out of pique, but I was so hot and bothered, and two weeks would be a long fucking time, especially if any of my ten pending punishments involved orgasm denial. I turned around, perching on her desk, pulling my feet up, letting my legs fall open wide. If Master Grey wanted to watch, I'd give him a show!

I made a meal of it. I slid my fingers between my labia, pushing them open, massaging the lips, dragging my fingers seductively up and down my folds. I hoped he had a zoom feature so he could get the full effect of my motions. I pressed three fingers into my pussy, almost fisting myself as I reclined on Mistress' desk. I used the finger of my other hand to probe my rosebud as I rocked my way to an explosive orgasm.

I then stood up, allowing my clothes to fall into place. Mistress offered me a few paper towels to clean myself up. Then I carried the clamps, belt and Ben Wa balls to her bathroom, cleaning and drying each item in turn, in order to place them in the case. When finished, I had two minutes to spare.

"Come back in a week and a half for your assigned treatments. After they are completed, I will give you your final instructions," she stated calmly. I left her office sans underwear, while wondering why all the humiliating events of today left me feeling better than my last few fucks.

Two weeks later, I stood outside a towering silver building at dusk on a Friday. As I entered the lobby, a tall intimidated blonde gentleman escorted me to the elevator. He never spoke to me. He looked at me, and I gazed down as he entered a code into the elevator panel. We quickly ascended to the penthouse apartment. The elevator doors opened, we walked into a huge foyer. Everything was in shades of white, even the floor. The man, who had not yet identified himself, motioned me to to remain where I was.

He returned a minute or two later, only saying, "Mr. Grey will see you now."

He escorted me further into the living room, and disappeared quickly into the shadows of the vast apartment. I looked up at the sound of feet passing across the floor. A very gorgeous, tall man stood in artfully ripped and faded jeans, shirtless and barefoot.

"So, I've heard someone's been a very bad girl."


	5. Chapter 4: Compatible

_I saw her look up at me beneath her eyelashes as I padded across the floor. Fuck! I could barely fathom it. She was a dead ringer for the crackwhore!_

"So, I've heard someone's been a very bad girl," I teased. Fuck! I could barely fathom it. This woman was a fucking carbon copy, the living embodiment, of Ella. That's why I had to have her despite the initial revulsion I felt when informed that she had contracted chlamydia. I surprised the fuck out of Elena by not immediately taking her out of contention. After all, who actually catches the clap nowadays unless they're very irresponsible?

No worries. I'm nothing if not a very very strict disciplinarian. I wouldn't allow her very much latitude to do stupid shit in the future. A one-night stand with a stranger no less? Definitely not safe or sane. I hope she at least came, otherwise she's going to be paying for her transgressions for nothing.

Sure, she may not have been my sub at the time, but I needed to correct her flighty behavior before it resulted in irretrievable harm. It was not such an almighty mental leap from the clap to catching an incurable STD. Or a crack habit. I needed her prostrate at my feet in repentance, reducing the chances of her indulging in such irresponsible behavior again.

I stalked around her, taking her in from all angles. Her posture could use some work. She didn't speak, which was a good thing as she was already ten punishments in the red. Examining her up close was a much different experience than the times I'd studied her in the past. To my eyes, she was perfect. Not that she because she was beautiful, but she closely adhered to my desired physical profile.

"Leila," I began, pronouncing it LAY-EE-LUH, drawing out the syllables. I knew from her file that her name was pronounced a different way, but I was curious to see how soon she would fuck up so I could punish her.

"Sir, this girl's name is pronounced LEE-LAH," she said, and then I had her dead to rights. First, she spoke without permission. Second, she disagreed with me. And third, she had the audacity to attempt to fucking correct me! If I'd decided to rename this bitch Daffy Duck, she'd have had to answer to it in quacks. Had no-one ever explained to her that referring to herself in third person with her 'this girl' nonsense made her seem like a little girl? All she was missing was some ruffled panties and one of those giant rainbow-swirl lollipops to complete the picture.

I wasn't one of those Daddy-Doms who spoiled their subs. Too many of them come that way, far too bratty to realize I didn't have and wouldn't make time for their tantrums. Hardcore, high-intensity sessions were my hallmark. And Lay-ee-lah was just racking up the transgressions right and left, fresh out the gate. I wanted to feel disappointed, but instead I was excited to have an opportunity to indeed lay stripe to her 'lily-white ass' as Elena derided.

Her quick intake of air let me know she'd realized she'd fucked up. She couldn't even manage to get to the playroom so I could punish her properly. No matter. It's not like I ever intended to spare the rod of correction, and I was a very in the moment type of guy.

Leila possesses exhibitionist tendencies. I figured that out from watching the live video feed in Elena's office. She enjoys being seen. If Elena had a cock, she would've been jacking off like I was when Leila let her legs fall open so wide and started pumping her pussy with three fingers while slipping a finger up her ass. She loves the camera, I'll say that much for her, even if the camera doesn't love her back as much. She'd more than earned her 'A+' in enthusiasm.

Being told that she wouldn't be able to satisfy herself until I returned acted as a powerful motivator. Especially after a marathon shopping spree without underwear and with beads filling her pussy as she gingerly moved about Seattle. She should be grateful I relented and didn't have Elena insert the butt plug, too. I was leaning heavily toward maximum humiliation and sensory overload, but decided instead to save it for another day, which pissed Elena the fuck off.

We'd both noticed her slight hesitation when she'd been directed to assume the position. That's when I decided to make sure the conditioner specified wouldn't be on the shelf of the store Elena sent her to. It was nothing at all to get one of my assistants to buy every bottle of that hair serum Elena selected before Leila could get there. Or egg on Elena to screw Leila over for her insolence. She was so pissed that Leila had almost fucked up her matchmaking fee that she could've shit bricks and built a hut.

She'd been bragging on this super sub for years that had hardly any hard limits and had never safeworded. Curious as I'd been regarding this supposed paragon of submission, the timing had never worked out. Either I had a sub, she had a Dom or both of us were in other contracts. It wasn't as if I didn't have time, and the other subs never stayed around once they figured out their true place in my life. Eventually, I'd get her under my whip if Elena had anything to do with it.

Personally, I think Elena wanted to fuck her, but I think Leila leaned strongly to the strictly dickly end of the spectrum which put a kibosh on that fantasy. When Leila started pumping her ass with her finger, I know Elena probably wanted to strap on and plunder her it herself. If it wasn't for the STD, I might've witnessed some girl-on-girl action regardless. Leila was desperate enough for my forgiveness that she might've succumbed if pressed.

It wouldn't have been the first time Elena and I had fucked, or better yet dominated, the same person. Never at the same time however, as I don't share subs, but we shared more than a few mutual acquaintances. We would laugh about it over lunch once or thrice. While Elena was still a very attractive woman, that ship had sailed long ago. I was forever done with being a sub, but she'd always be a Domme and our temperaments were simply not compatible. Besides, though she was beautiful for her type, tall, blond, very Nordic, I'd always admired petite brunettes.

Now, Leila stood before me, silent and still, in severe need of discipline, and I was just the man to administer it. Though she was due almost a dozen punishments, I'd still intended to give her the grand tour of the place, focusing on all of the common areas, now I'd have to be doubly vigilant to point out the places she was not welcome. This Leila, despite her stellar reputation, had all the earmarks of a recalcitrant child, frequently overstepping her boundaries. How Elena ever thought she'd be perfect for me…

"Come," I commanded, not even bothering to look at her as I made my way upstairs to my playroom. I had the key in my pocket. I could hear the click of her sky-high heels as she trailed behind me, thankfully not too close. I opened the door and motioned her in to precede me.

I knew what she would see. Paint, a bold splash of deep blood-red across every wall. Heavy, dark wooden furniture. Oxblood leather upholstery with its brass nail head trim. The room reeked with Old-World charm. The St. Andrews cross in the corner, anchored all of the pieces, drawing the eye even beyond the huge four poster bed central to the play area. The additional ottomans, Chesterfield, whipping bench and a Liberator chaise brought it all together, creating a room that seemed a hybrid between a bedroom and sitting area.

To my left, one wall boasted floor-to-ceiling glass-front cabinets, also in wood, backlit, with drawers in some, holding my toys for play, while to my left, my floggers, cats, belts, crops and canes hung on a rack. Speaking of racks, above our heads, a grid for suspension lay in wait for the unwary. I certainly hope she got a good look at this room because she's only view she was going to have would be from the whipping bench for a very long while…

"Strip for me. I know you know how," I commanded. I saw on the video how she attempted to give us both a few 'fuck you' shimmies in protest. Every shake of her narrow ass is going to result in a stripe. Neither of us were pleased at her show of disrespect because we both knew she was acting out, trying to top from the bottom. Elena came up with some rather cruel and unusual ideas for punishments, but Leila was my sub and I'd be handling all of her correction from here on out.

She carefully removed each garment, allowing them to fall to the floor. Her 'tease' was a little more subtle since she realized I was here in person to rain hell on her. It's easy to be a tease from half a world away, but up close and personal, she lost the bulk of her bravado. That's the thing about brats. They like attention, but aren't quite sure what to do when they've gotten it.

"So, can you name the one item in the case we didn't use?" I inquired, seeing if she would dare to open her mouth again. Instead of speaking, she gave a brief nod. Good. She wasn't completely useless. I'd wondered if perhaps the reason she'd never safeworded was because she was a slave masquerading as a sub. Those are the worst because slaves are high-maintenance. You have to control, protect and be concerned for them at all times. I needed a sub for release, not an additional demanding career.

"Name it," I commanded.

"The butt plug, Sir," she answered in a low voice.

Too late for a show of meekness now, missy. I knew that plug was huge, but according to Elena, she'd graduated to that size just recently. Now that's why I preferred experienced subs. They could never quite pull off the 'how dare you' tone after they'd taken an anal plug the size of a huge fist or a small baby up their asses. I mean honestly, it's the final fucking frontier. Nothing is left after that except a test of their limits, endurance and willpower.

Now, it's about time I made it impossible for Ms. Williams to sit down. I directed her to the whipping bench, where wouldn't you know it, the case from Elena's office sat in bold relief. Ta-da! Now I would be able to administer the punishment as intended.

"Open the case," I demanded silkily, sidling up behind her. I leaned just so, to let my breath caress her skin causing her hair at the nape of her neck to rise and goosebumps to break out. "Now," I continued, "take out each item from smallest to largest, give its name and explain its purpose."

This was a test. If she was flippant or failed to understand the purpose of this exercise, she'd need to leave even if she never called out any color of the rainbow. I had no patience for fools.

"Clover clamps with bells," she began, hesitantly, "Used to keep nipples pinched once erect."

I held out my hand to receive them. "What would I use them for?" I demanded harshly.

"To make sure you had my undivided attention. Every time the bell moves, there's a sound and the teeth bite into me," she respond. Better.

"Next?"

"Two die. Like the Wheel of Destiny, it lets Fate decide my reward or punishment," she answered more confidently, handing them over. "A chastity belt. To remind me that my pleasure or relief is not my own and not to fuck around indiscriminately."

A little snarky, but accurate. Accepted.

"Ben Wa balls, to excite me the more I move around, and finally, a butt plug, to fill up my anus and stimulate me?" she replied in question. Well, when you're in doubt, ask.

"Oh, I planned to stimulate you all right. I intended to keep you stimulated all over Seattle," I admitted. What were you thinking, letting some college boy get his rocks off without protection? That one fuck could've killed you! Do you have a death wish? I'd really like to know because I'm not going to waste my time on the suicidal."

I had to make it plain. I didn't give a shit who she fucked. I just cared how she fucked them since her behavior could impact me. "Well, thankfully, you'll find that I am monogamous in all my relationships. I've never had nor passed on a sexually transmitted disease. Not even a yeast infection. Now, UTIs are a fact of life if I regularly fuck you, so I'd advise you to invest in the best cranberry juice you can afford. Other than that, I won't injure you. Don't get me wrong. I'm going to hurt you, I just won't be sending you to the hospital."

She nodded. My spiel has changed in the course of my relationships, as I've learned more. "I demand monogamy in return. If you feel you cannot remain monogamous, you can get the fuck out. For your complete understanding, that means no person, male or female should touch or be touched by you in a sexual manner. Unfortunately, you're about as clean as you can get, but I don't want to share any fluid transfer with anyone else even by proxy," I stated. It's sad that these things must be explained, yet I accept it as the cost of keeping my health and my dick.

"I've never cheated on a Dom!" she whispered. Methinks she protest too much… Not that she doesn't cheat, she just doesn't cheat on her Doms, waiting until a contract ends then acts like a sailor on a weekend furlough… Nothing worse than a poor case of situational ethics. Another bad habit to break.

Roughly pushing her against the bench, I cuffed both of her hands to the hooks, so she couldn't get away or buck off. Then I used a spreader bar to keep her legs open, cuffing both ankles to the bench. I lubed both the Ben Wa balls and the butt plug. Rubbing her clit and labia with the balls to get her juices flowing, I carefully inserted them. Once that was accomplished, I took a crop and swatted her ass a couple times, causing her to jolt forward as the balls began to move around.

Though she was bent over at a steep angle, I still had to take care with the plug since it was fucking huge. I liberally squirted cool lube over her rosebud between and her cheeks. Since it was cooler than the ambient temperature of the room, Leila jerked forward, disturbing the balls inside her. I gradually worked the plug into her ass until it was firmly seated.

I used a cloth to wipe away the excess lube before strapping her into her chastity belt and tightening it. There. Perfect. I walked around the bench, surveying the scene with satisfaction. The only thing that would've made it better was a ball-gag, but I needed her vocal.

She couldn't see me as I walked to the rack holding my favorite tool, the cat. It was the one piece of equipment for which I risked my privacy in order to learn. I needed far greater expertise than Elena possessed. For my purposes, my aim, my force and my stroke had to be perfect. I wanted to be able to tattoo my name on a sub's ass in stars and stripes if I so desired.

Strolling to the bench with whip in hand, I felt the pressures of the week begin to fade away. There were no appointments, no interviews, no reports. It was just me, firmly in the Now.

I used light, then progressively heavier slaps on her ass to prepare it for the cat in order to not break the skin. She moaned as my strokes sent the balls scrambling for purchase. "Leila," I said authoritatively, "you may be as vocal as you like. Count."

With that, I backed up and let her fly with a whistle and a stinging crack. Leila yelped and her body jerked, but she couldn't get away from the bench she was tethered to. She counted one, then thanked me.

"What are your safewords?" I demanded.

"Red, yellow… and green, Sir," she panted.

"What color are you now?" I inquired as I cued up for another stroke.

"Green, Sir," she replied with a hiss as I brought down the whip again, striking her other cheek. Then, I only asked her color after every two strokes. While she moaned in agony and continued the count, thanking me after each stroke. She remained green as Kermit though I know it must've hurt like a bitch.

When we reached ten, I put the cat away, an checked on Leila to make sure she was alright. Cum was dribbling down her legs forming a huge puddle. Instead of the punishment I had sought to enact upon her, I had inadvertently overwhelmed her with pleasure.

Leila was a masochist. Elena was right. We were highly compatible. But what that meant for the future was no-one's guess.


	6. Chapter 5: Special

I'd like to thank Thirst who lets me bend her ear and my friends and fellow long-sufferers at the Boot Camp.

A/N: In which Leila misses the point. Again. I thought she was an artist.

Oh. My. God! That's Christian Grey! Christian Grey is a Dominant. I couldn't believe it. BDSM really is made up of all kinds. I guess I shouldn't judge. Until I'd met him in the flesh, I'd still had a hard time believing that this was real. Some subspace-induced fantasy or a cruel trick contrived by Mistress to punish me for tainting the goods.

The man that's penetrated, whipped, fucked and dominated me in a myriad of ways for the past month is the Christian Grey! The man who fucked me for hours, giving me orgasm after orgasm until I've passed out more than once is Christian fucking Grey! He works hard and plays even harder, but no-one would ever guess. Especially since the first thing he made me do, sight unseen, was to sign an iron-clad nondisclosure agreement.

"Your trial period is over. We already fulfilled the trial contract. If you accept, I'd like for you to look over this final contract, initial and date any proposed changes and sign the contract," he states coolly, handing me a thick packet of documents.

His hard and soft limits match up pretty well with mine, though I remain intrigued by his addition of touching him without permission as a hard limit. Mistress has instructed me to never breach this particular hard limit, or even attempt to bring it up in discussion, as this could result in immediate severing of the contract. He has assigned me a room as we will not be sharing a bed outside of a scene, and will never share his bed for any reason. I'm prohibited from even entering his bedroom.

I'd always had the habit of memorializing some of my past interactions, but his security is always performing sweeps of his cars and apartments, so I've never been able to mount my mini-cam. Besides, who'd want to blow a sweet setup like this? Although I'd love to track down the asswipe who gave me chlamydia. We fucked until he ran out of condoms, and I foolishly allowed him a bareback ride or two for which I've atoned this past month.

Until now, his CPO has accompanied me each time I entered or exited Sir's residence no matter the time of day. He is ghost-like. His supernatural stealth perturbs me, leaving me shaken. He never speaks to me unless I ask a question to which I'm allowed to know the answer. He doesn't make polite conversation or participate in idle chitchat. I get the feeling that I'm invisible as far as he's concerned. He doesn't look at me as much as through me.

He's entered the playroom several times in the past two weeks, and no matter what position we're found in, or what we are doing, he responds as if he just caught us sharing coffee. I was on the sex swing with him nailing my pussy when Taylor entered without knocking, answering a few of Sir's inquiries, then leaving. Sir continued fucking me during their conversation. As an experienced sub, it's my duty to defer to my Dominant in all situations and let him establish the tempo, but even I gotta admit that it's fairly disturbing to not be noticed at all.

I think the stoic rent-a-cop is fucking the maid. I rarely see her since I only come on the weekends which she has off. Thankfully, she stocked many meals that only needed to be reheated before they are served since I can barely cook a lick. The fridge was also chock full of salad and sandwich staples, already prepped for easy assembly. Sir could never go hungry in this apartment.

He boasts a personal wine cellar filled with a lot of very high-end wines, with quite a few bottles produced by lesser-known vineyards in limited quantities. Once, he sent me to retrieve a bottle of red wine from his special stock to serve with a beef dish. I made a mental note of the label and when I looked it up, that one small bottle was worth over $5,000! And for a few of the others, there was a damn waiting list! Since we were not going to scene for awhile, Sir allowed me to consume one thousand-dollar glass of it. He's really into feeding a belly before he tries to bore a hole into it with his cock.

Before Sir, I always considered myself multi-orgasmic, but he could make me cum with barely a few caresses. He was so fucking beautiful. And he has the biggest cock I've ever fucked. His cock is very thick and must be almost eleven inches. He's not packing a cock in his trousers, he's swinging a fucking club. And my pussy has borne the full brunt of it. I was never the hugest fan of anal sex until Sir. He would've fucked me raw if I didn't frequently offer my ass as a substitute.

Later, I figured out that must have been his intention all along. After having her pussy battered so thoroughly into submission, quite a few subs might offer up their asses if only for a brief respite. Like many men, Sir is a true fan of anal sex. But, unlike most, I don't think it's the tightness of the cavity that gets him off, but the infliction of pain and the thrill of control.

He usually took my ass from behind, but on a few rare occasions he would bind me tightly to some apparatus and fuck my ass while facing me. He even had anchors for tethers built into the floor so he could bind my hands and feet, forcing me to squat while I used a dildo with suction base to fuck myself in the ass while performing fellatio on him. This was punishment for not putting things in the kitchen in their proper place.

For minor infractions, I could find myself being double penetrated by Sir's fucking machine while he looks over files on his laptop, glancing at me from time to time, ensuring that I was alright, almost daring me to safeword, though I never gave him the satisfaction. In Sir's world, 'go fuck yourself' has a concrete (and very literal) definition.

Not even menstruation deterred Sir from a good, hard fuck session. He didn't care about Aunt Flo except to be impressed that Mother Nature provided such ample lubrication so he didn't have to prepare my pussy for its weekly pounding. Besides, there was a wide variety of other instruments he could use to get himself off, such as his floggers, crops, and cats. However, what he really seemed to love is the belt. He always carefully examined the stripes on my back, ass and thighs before cumming all over my breasts, and sometimes my face, after he jerked himself off to completion.

Most subs worked on a three weekends on, one weekend off schedule, but I found that my body responded best when Sir fucked it regularly. The first time I tried the normal schedule, I felt like I had been deflowered again the following week. Sometimes Sir would play with my pussy, place clover clamps on my nipples and a kegel exerciser in my snatch, then stick a huge weighted metal butt plug up my ass for a couple hours per day. He would be sure to instruct me not to come while he directed me through various household tasks, such as scrubbing the already pristine kitchen floor while on my hands and knees. It would have been great if he had stayed and watched, but really it was a harsh lesson in discipline.

That's when I made a startling discovery: discipline was not my thing. Sure, I loved the pain, punishments and orgasms, but obedient I was not. I had just never had a Dom truly push my limits before. I began doing little things to piss Sir off. I would purposefully leave things in the wrong place, but not obvious enough to be noticed the same weekend. Sometimes, I would cum without Sir's permission while I was in my apartment. He would know I had orgasmed at some point because he could tell when my pussy was hungry and when it wasn't.

The problem with cumming without his permission during the week is that the punishment he meted out for that particular transgression was sensory deprivation. Total deprivation of Sir. He would lock me out of his apartment, change the codes and refuse all contact with me. And that was the most awful punishment he could enact.

In many ways, Sir was the most generous Dom I'd ever had. And it wasn't because of his wealth, but because he noticed the small things. I barely had to work when he was my Dom because he made it his mission to make sure I was provided for. Real estate in Seattle was always at a premium and when my landlord hiked my rent before my lease was renewed, Sir covered the shortfall, and I had never told him. After the first three months, he presented me with a snazzy red Audi because I had some trouble with my existing car getting back and forth from my art courses.

I asked him why he chose red, hinting that perhaps it was because it was the color of love and passion and his eyes shuttered and he gave his lips a sardonic twist. Then he said something I'll never forget: "I don't do love. Love is for fools. What ignorant people call 'love' is just a set of chemical reactions in the brain, tricking people into lives of perpetual bondage without reprieve."

He had, in essence, described love as a form of drug-induced slavery. However, it was easy to gloss over it because he was so thoughtful. I shouldn't have been surprised that he had very little employee turnover. Between people trying to stay at GEH and others clamoring to be hired, it was no surprise that Sir had somehow discovered the key to employee retention. So, it was somewhat puzzling that he never had a long-term sub. No-one had stayed over a year and I was unlucky number 13.

So, I was shocked when a year passed and Sir and I remained together. I suppose that reaching out to his previous subs was a stroke of genius. Once I had compiled a list of do's and don'ts, keeping Sir satisfied was child's play. I believed that the main reason Sir didn't believe in love was that none of his previous subs had held on as long as I had. I had proven myself to be reliable and trustworthy.

I had done all I could to make myself indispensable, while keeping Master titillated. I'd begun to master the art of edging, only instead of sex, I sought to tease him to the limits of his mental endurance, which often culminated in some of the most exotic and violent punishments. I'd grabbed the tiger by its tail more than once.

But I didn't want to be just indispensable anymore. I wanted my Master to love me. How else could I ensure that these wonderful sensations would continue? I started to wonder if he had never witnessed love. His family hardly visited and he rarely visited them. They didn't seem to give a damn about Sir at all.

A couple times his mother dropped by, but she didn't even attempt to hug him, just placing her hands on his shoulders and dropping one of those cool European kisses on his cheek. Did their skin cells even make contact? No wonder he has such a savage reaction when touched. He didn't even receive proper affection from his mother.

Sir now allowed me free rein of his apartment. Of course, I still wasn't allowed in his bedroom, but I was more or less welcome anywhere else. I had codes to the garage, his apartment and while drawing quietly in the corner of Sir's home office, I was able to learn the combination to Sir's safe where he kept all of his very important documents! Well, Sir frequently glanced at a certain spot under his desk and I just happened to retrace his steps and wrote down the combination, but still, Sir trusted me!

Master hardly seemed to sleep at all, playing his piano into the wee hours of the morning, working out in his gym or running. Many nights he'd scream until I worried he'd lose his voice. I wanted to save him from the monsters that haunted his dreams. Sometimes after an extremely arduous session, I'd force myself to remain awake, or I'd set an alarm on my phone so I could try to sneak into Master's bedroom. Once I was even able to touch his hair!

Sir had begun to relax around me, letting me place a few selections on his iPod. His iPod was synced on all of his Apple devices, so he always had something to remind him of me. Once, late in the evening, Sir escorted me to a private showing at a shop where select purveyors of fine fetishwear exhibited their wares. He also gave me a large line of credit at Neiman-Marcus, providing me with a personal shopper. He requires me to appear properly dressed at all times, from foundation garments to accessories, even for the times he was not present. He had made it clear that everything he purchased for me belonged to me outright.

Once, when I had pleased him especially well, he purchased me a chocolate diamond tennis bracelet because it reminded him of my eyes. Well, he didn't say that exactly. He said he chose it to match my eye color. But that's how I decided to interpret it.

I kept many of my nicest things in my bedroom at Escala, though Sir insisted that only white satin or lace panties were allowed in his playroom. At this time, Sir and I had been in a monogamous relationship for over a year. I look back at these halcyon days with a smile upon my face as they represented the beginning of my fall. It wasn't until I had plummeted from the cliff I never knew I was standing on, that must have been there the whole time, that I realized there was no soft place to land.


	7. Chapter 6: Domination

Once again, let me thank Thirst who has really been coming through with the pre-reading... I type much slower than I think, so mistakes are bound to appear.

A/N: A guest or two (perhaps the same guest) has accused me of plagiarism, essentially stealing someone else's story or storyline. I don't need to steal.

One complaint was that I made Eamon a Dom… He, too, is a rich, powerful guy who is often depicted as a serial philanderer in fanfiction. It wouldn't be outside the norm for him to have participated in BDSM. I used the NaNoWriMo Camp to develop a huge overarching plot and several smaller subplots all within a one-month period. I wrote over 50k words for the challenge, but this story is nowhere near completion.

In addition, I've bounced my ideas off several people along the way. I'm sure these other FSoG fanfiction afficionados would've noticed if my shit was redundant. If this anonymous individual could take some time out of his/her no doubt busy schedule to at least drop a story ID with the relevant passages for comparison, I'd be willing to hold my story up to scrutiny, in order to prove that this story is mine except for the basic Fifty Shades universe and characters. If this guest does NOT provide proof of this accusation(s), he/she is just pulling this scenario out of his/her ass and wasting my, and other readers, time.

Another guest (why is it always a guest?) criticized me for drawing out Christian's 'scenes' with Leila. They are NOT nearly as gratuitous as they seem. To get to know MY Christian, you need to know how he was with the subs before. How else could we have a Fifty Shades that was shocked Anastasia wouldn't let him diddle her at his parents' dining table? Didn't you ever wonder (even just a little bit) what kind of women and/or relationships created a man so spoiled that he expected Anastasia to just fall in line?

ELJ shafted us… She expected us to simply accept that his love for Ana cured him of all his ills without it being spelled out exactly what he was sacrificing in order to keep her. I've read countless articles about people with BDSM tendencies who fell in love with vanilla folks and those relationships generally ended badly.

If you're expecting to see Ana any time soon, I hope you like disappointment. If it makes you feel any better, you're going to see so much of her later on, you'll probably get sick of her. You do realize bad stuff is going to happen to her, right? Who wants to go rushing headlong into that? 

* * *

_Leila was a masochist. Elena was right. We were highly compatible. But what that meant for the future was no-one's guess._

"I caught Leila leaving my room when I woke up this morning," I confided lowly over dinner. With that, Elena shot me a horror-filled look, fork poised over her frisée salad, as if the spirit of Leila's bludgeoned corpse was currently haunting my apartment.

"The fuck you say!" she hissed, angrily stabbing at her salad.

"I've kept her much longer than all of the others. I know you never approved of the heavy turnover, but surely you understand now that she can't stay. Her clingy behavior has escalated. I wouldn't be surprised if she was waiting for me Friday evening at the door with newspaper and whip in hand," I added, sure that Elena would stroke out if the throbbing in her usually frozen forehead continued.

"I have a couple girls who are at loose ends right now that might do in a pinch," she muttered to herself. I didn't need a sub at the moment. The one I had was too much trouble as she was. Frankly, the whole process had begun to pall.

"Are there any true subs left? Leila is all about the whips, chains and punishments, but submissive she is not. Lately, she's been hinting around for me to take her places," I said disgusted.

"Bet Grace would just love that. She'd probably wish you truly were gay!" she chortled.

"You don't say," I spat. "I thought you said she was perfect for me."

"She was. Does she balk at a cat or a cane? Take a long, hard fuck? Look like a bedraggled waif?" she demanded. "Allowing for your criteria, she was perfect."

"I think my needs are changing," I confessed.

"How so? You already fucked the doctor, a chef and an acrobat. What else could you possibly want? Or better yet, what don't you want?" she queried, "Because I haven't the foggiest. What's your real issue with Leila?"

"She's a true masochist, Elena. I can't punish her," I admitted flatly. "No-one can. The only thing that makes her bleed is rejection. And if I have to shut her out or put her in the hospital to bring her to heel, I may as well not have a sub at all," I growled.

She gazed at me, face filled with chagrin, or was it fear? "Well, she'll be coming for her regular appointment later this week… How about I drop in to dispense some timely advice?" she offered hesitantly. We both knew the code for fanning the flames of failure. Elena would encourage her to be honest with me, Leila would pressure me and I would tell her no. Good Cop - Bad Cop. Easy as clockwork.

I was so sure regular meetings with my discards would keep her humble, but instead she returned full-to-the-brim with false hope. I thought the purpose of the Sub Club was to teach them the meaning of their own importance (none), while disseminating information that I didn't bother to relate. Orientation, if you will. I even provided my subs with self-care kits because I certainly wasn't giving out any cuddles after our sessions.

"You know she won't be able to find a decent Dom if this gets out. She'll be scraping the bottom of the barrel for contracts," Elena claimed.

"And how the hell is that my problem?" he snapped. "Trust me, she arrived that way. She's a fucking pain-freak. I thought she was topping from the bottom for attention, but she can't choose between being a pain-slut and a slave," he hissed in frustration.

"And what about after the contract is over?" she demanded.

"You said her last Dom sent her to school? Why not offer her a few more classes? She likes to paint. She's has a good eye, but fuck-all in terms of discipline."

"So you what? Just want to throw money at the problem to make it go away?" she scoffed. "We both know why you've kept this one so long."

"I just want her to go away. She's added all these love songs on my iPod. The other day I went to my parents' place, cued up the player and Toxic comes blaring out the speakers. What she wants and what we agreed to are no longer compatible, if they ever were," he stated.

"That won't stop you from scening with her this weekend, will it?" she chuckled.

"Until she confesses, I have no reason to change our routine. I wouldn't want to arouse her suspicions," he pouted.

"You're incorrigible, Christian," Elena scolded playfully.

"Well, I'm sure the twenty-five grand deposit you receive as soon as she leaves will ease your pain and suffering tremendously," he retorted, grimacing. "I'm the one who's going to need to dispose of anything she leaves behind."

"You're such a hypocrite, darling. How can you claim to care so much about the environment when you don't recycle?" she sniffed.

"Any feelings of guilt will be ameliorated when I purchase replacement goods. I'm stimulating the economy," he dodged with a smirk.

"Think whatever gives you comfort. Trust you to spin dumping someone into a public service. Guess I'll be working on a replacement," she groused.

"You have at least a hundred reasons to find one," he retorted. "And you have four months."

"Why four instead of the normal two?" she inquired.

"One word: Europe. I've decided to diversify," he responded.

"Again? When will you be satisfied, Christian?" Elena questioned.

"When it's enough," he said shortly, ending the conversation and with that, dinner.

He stood in the middle of his playroom, surveying it carefully. Leila had subtly altered the positioning again. Usually this would've resulted in a punishment, but it was impossible to punish the willing. Their scenes had devolved into a parody of the damsel on the tracks while the villain twirled his mustache in glee. With Leila as his sub, his dominance had been reduced to mere puppetry. No wonder he felt so out of control.

He strode out of the room, heading in the direction of the staff quarters. Taylor met him in the foyer.

"Taylor, Ms. Williams will be leaving next week," I stated brusquely. He looked at me impassively. We've been down this route before. He's been exposed to most of my past submissives. He usually knows they're on their way out long before I do.

"Ms. Williams may present a problem, sir," Taylor volunteered. The fuck you say? That little slip of a thing?

"What kind of a problem?" I inquired, because this is the first time I'm hearing this.

"She's been all over your residence since you gave her the codes. She snoops. She's sneaky. You can tell she is assessing everything. We're gong to need to change all the codes. Have you considered installing the biometrics we discussed?" he asked. Perhaps he has mentioned that a time or two, but I'd put him off. He's great at his job, but I don't need to turn my apartment into a fucking fortress.

"The cameras should be enough. Just change the codes and escort her out of the building personally," I commanded.

"Very well, sir," he responded glumly, no doubt miffed that I'd denied him yet another bite of the tech he's been salivating over for the past year. He, Welch and Barney will get over it.

Though I was expecting Leila to arrive tonight after work, I was sure she'd be here waiting for me. Sometimes I wonder if she's homeless, because she never seems to have anything or anywhere else to go but here. She seems to live as if i have her on call, which is not the case at all.

I like for my sub's weekends to be kept clear, but there's really no need for them to drop by during the week unless the weekend posed a problem. Sunday through Friday evening were usually earmarked for business activities and i didn't appreciate anyone underfoot when i was taking care of business.

I work all the time and I'm always available as far as GEH is concerned. There are few times when i am not in work mode. That's when I'm in the playroom. That's not to say that work emergencies do not intrude, because they do, but i usually have most things in hand before the weekend.

Everything I've never done with Leila will have to be compressed into these final two weekends. No matter, she'll most likely derive much enjoyment from my attentions. I was stupid to think that this could work, especially since she's tried so assiduously to turn this into some lifetime commitment.

Face it. Even if I didn't have my issues, long-term relationships aren't all that common in BDSM arrangements. Perhaps it's because the relationships major focus is honesty and pleasure. And once you no longer find your partner attractive, it's time to leave or add additional partners. What's the point of adding other people when it's only going to result in anger, jealousy and insecurity? I'm not aiming to build a fucking harem.

Either way, I'm monogamous in all my relationships, not just because of the safe sex, but because it's disrespectful. When the subs are around, they generally have the bulk of my focus. I've set the time aside just for them. They may not see it that way when they're in their room in their own bed, but this arrangement is generous compared to a lot of the situations I've seen.

There are some Doms that cage their subs and stuff them under their beds when they don't want to be bothered. Or leave them hanging, suspended by chains, when they're not 'in use' the pathetic fuckers. All of my subs are treated decently within the bounds of their contracts. Maybe that's why they so frequently attempt to take advantage of me.

A few faked pregnancies occurred before I figured out the best way to handle them was to make them squat and piss to insure no babies would be resulting from our unions… I don't fuck breeding stock. It's not my kink and no-one should be offended by the idea that children aren't part of my plan. Everything I am and everything I do is in black and white from the outset. If they intend to change their route midstream, I can't be held accountable.

Why is it that people delude themselves into believing I'm going to change because I like them? I hardly like anyone. And even they can be counted on one hand with at least a finger left over. Sometimes my fingers waver.

Elena may bitch a great fucking deal about finding appropriate subs that match my requirements, but we live in Washington state. Pale, petite, dark-haired women are pretty fucking heavy on the ground and if need be, she could always find one elsewhere. I'm international. I'm not like Elliot, needing to fuck half the women in Seattle. I can afford to outsource. The world is a big enough place for her to find me what I need.

Personally, I think she likes nagging me because she has Isaac now. He's been her long-term sub for a couple years, but I'm sure she still plays away so has little room to fuss. At least I'm only fucking Leila. She may retain her subs longer, but I keep mine happier.

Leila has entered the apartment, once again wearing the perfume I don't like. I haven't told her, but it makes her smell cheap though I know it's expensive. I'm going to make all my future subs use bodywash and scents I provide. Leila has officially fucked it up for everyone else.

She went through all this trouble to dress up as if we're going out for a night on the town, when I'm just going to order her to take it all off, shower and put on the clothes I laid out for her. I adjusted the environmental controls so the temperature of the apartment would soon approach that of a meat-locker. Too bad I only placed a g-string and a pair of nipple clamps on her bed. She's going to be nipplelicious all weekend. Let the torture begin.

At eight o'clock on the dot, I entered my playroom to find her in her second position, kneeling, thighs and legs akimbo, hands behind her back, head bowed in supplication. Her body, likely chilled, was covered in goosebumps. Her hair, hanging long and unbound, troubled me. She knows I prefer it plaited and secured.

Perhaps she was trying to get me to braid it as I had a few times in the past. Not biting. I reached into the front pocket of my jeans, fishing out a hair-tie, and tossed it in front of her, knowing she wouldn't be allowed to pick it up without breaking position. Instead, my dismissive attitude signaled my displeasure as without acknowledging her, I stepped around, going to my music dock.

All commands would be given via hand signals and body language. I was done and she must soon realize it. She made a solemn agreement and she has broken it several times. I always respected her hard limits, yet she has frequently violated mine. In her desire for more, she's failed to comprehend that my limits exist for her safety. Entering my room against my express wishes terminated our arrangement as far as I was concerned.

There are few ways to punish a pain slut, unfortunately, that don't include a gratuitous amount of mind fuckery. I wasn't about to have her write lines of "I will not enter Sir's bedroom" over and over until her hands blistered and bled despite that initial inclination. I could've made her walk around town without her war paint.

Even kicking her out of Escala inconvenienced me as much as it punished her, and fuck if I cared enough about her to sacrifice my desires in order to train her. I wasn't in this to break subs. I always selected experienced subs to avoid this bullshit, but now she's caught feelings and she's expecting me to read her mind and fall in love with her. Not going to fucking happen.

He couldn't deny he'd been enthralled at the notion of exacting retribution on one who so resembled Ella, but the drawbacks had begun to drastically outweigh the positives. Who gave a shit that a sub could swallow a cock whole if she became so full of herself she decided she owned the man to whom it was attached?

He settled on a soft, seductive medley that spoke of a hunter that got captured by the game. He felt it was apropos. He strode back to where Leila remained in place, snatching up the hair-tie, wrapping his hand into Leila's hair and firmly dragging her by it to his St. Andrews cross.

He latched her to it firmly, with her body facing outward, so she could view everything he was doing, unable to move a muscle. He gathered her hair, using the hair-tie to arrange it into a messy bun. He didn't bother to blindfold or gag her because that would've defeated the purpose of this exercise. He then dragged over an armless chair, placing it directly in Leila's line of sight.

Taking his seat, he proceeded to slowly unzip his battered jeans, exposing his long, thick cock inch by inch. He let it push out proudly with the beginnings of precum. Then he licked his own hand and gripped his cock with his damp hand, working his dick up and down. Leila sucked in a gust of air. She wasn't the only one who could give a show.

This was probably the safest sex his playroom had ever hosted, provided Leila didn't choke on her own drool or swallow her tongue. She wet her lips, but knew better than to make a fucking sound. Not even a fucking peep after her first startled gasp. Her eyes dilated with excitement, but she was so tightly bound that she could only move her head in dismay as he continued to ignore her, solely focused upon pleasuring himself.

 _"What's this whole world comin' to_  
 _Things just ain't the same_  
 _Any time the hunter gets captured by the game"_

The song, line by line, mockingly illustrated the tease he delivered. She had indeed gotten caught in her own trap, but it wasn't his fucking job to save her or set her free. As he dragged his hand up and down to the song's hypnotic beat, letting the dribble of precum lubricate his hand as he twisted slightly on the downstroke, he felt his balls tighten with impending orgasm. As he felt the pleasure building to the crest, he looked directly into Leila's desperately pleading eyes. But as waves of ecstasy overtook him, he no longer saw eyes of bourbon brown. He'd been plunged headlong into the blue…


	8. Chapter 7: The Best Policy

Falling for Sir was as ill-judged as it was inescapable. There was always this sense of tension and inevitability. My problem is that the man I'd fallen for didn't exist. I'd only gotten to know his personal representative. An amalgamation of all the things he thought he should be. What I'd mistakenly labeled as love and thoughtfulness was really just a by-product of his obsessive efficiency.

I'd found that all subs who stayed over two months got full wardrobes. Carolyn Acton had dressed most of us. I guess it was easy as most of us were Winters. Brunette, pale, petite dolls for her to play dress-up with while plying her trade. The majority of us shared the same size, too.

The one-of-a-kind bracelet that I'd prized so highly from Tiffany & Co., he'd also purchased for each of the subs that were still around after six months. For all I knew, he may have even qualified for a bulk discount. Obviously, I had asked his former subs all the wrong questions and I would have to return to the drawing board to attain the longevity I craved.

Once I'd surpassed the established average time with Sir, I'd imagined that things would change, and eventually evolve, but he hadn't received that memo. His response to a sub's job well done was not a promotion, only an increased fervor to 'push' the sub's limits. Oh, and stuff. I would tell him that this girl didn't deserve such things, but he would only insist and of course I was forced to acquiesce because it became apparent that acceptance of his gifts was necessary for his enjoyment.

Pampering and providing for his subs was seemingly one of the most vital aspects of all of his arrangements. In that sense, I was nothing special. He had paid all educational expenses for the sub who attended medical school. She became a surgeon. Far after the end of their arrangements ended, Sir still continued to recognize and meet the needs of his submissives despite no longer acknowledging the subs themselves.

However, as I came close to reaching the end of my tether and giving up, a miracle occurred in the guise of Dr. Flynn, Sir's therapist. Soon, all that I needed to please Sir was at my fingertips. Discovering how and why he chose his submissives, the reasons he eventually cut them all loose and how he became a Dominant was critical to my progress. I'd been handed the blueprint to Sir's personality and I was nothing if not rigorous in my attention to detail.

My world enlarged itself as I determined all the aspects of my lifestyle that I would have to change or cultivate in order to become indispensable. Eating was a very important concern for Sir, thus in his world, sex and food were inextricably linked. He had a visceral reaction to what he considered food waste, and loved to watch me eat. Scouring floors with weighted plugs and nipple clamps didn't excite his interest, but get a fork in my mouth and he became immediately focused.

I began to elevate food consumption to an act of foreplay. And during my spare time, I enrolled in cooking courses to excite Sir's discerning palate. Being a visual artist helped me create dramatic presentations for Sir's pleasure. If my dishes were especially pleasing, Sir would sometimes apportion them across my prone form and eat them off or from me. One particularly sumptuous dessert of honey balsamic strawberries with whipped vanilla crème fraîche featured in the most spectacular bout of cunnilingus I'd ever experienced.

Sir could eat pussy like nobody's business, despite the fact that he rarely bothered with the practice. Like kissing, it too was as scarce as fresh, cool water in a barren desert. He resented the intimacy of kissing and it extended to both orifices. So sure he had many ways of stimulating my sex but even during cunnilingus, he clearly maintained his boundaries, ensuring that he was never perceived as submissive, even during the act.

I was always tightly bound and folded into strange positions as he forced me to absorb the pleasure as I slowly went out of my mind, often screaming myself hoarse with the sharp, yet exquisite, sensations bombarding my body. And these were acts Sir was loath to perform, so one can only imagine how masterful and attentive Sir was to the the acts he liked.

He specialized in caning and rope bondage. I had seen the latter art performed in a few clubs and been impressed by the accuracy and intensity of a professional bakushi, but Sir was clearly an adept. I once asked him where he learned shibari as it was an art that took some decades to master but he retreated someplace deep in his mind, becoming quite cold to me and robotically terminated the scene. He later admitted that it was not shibari, but would explain no further.

When it came to caning, Sir had no equal. The power and strength of a tiger was contained in his lean, whipcord form. His shoulders wide and long, sculpted arms gave hours of pleasure. I used to wonder how a person could experience such a level of prolonged pleasure and not die.

The frequency of my forays into subspace was astounding. No wonder Sir had subs dedicated to him even years after their terminations. They had even established and dedicated a support group in Sir's honor, jokingly dubbed the Sub Club. Since every sub had also subbed for Sir, it came as no surprise that the main topic of conversation was one Christian Grey.

How often and how hard he fucked. Positions and how he manipulated our bodies. How limber a sub needed to be to prevent cramps the days following one of his marathon sessions. How large his cock was and insane proposals to request a mold be created to provide them all with silicone copies. Farfetched, ridiculous shit that Sir would never consider. Meeting Sir's current sub allowed them to continue fucking him by proxy, so they were eminently helpful, offering advice and useful tips to keep Sir calibrated so he didn't go thermonuclear at the office, ultimately jeopardizing the economy of Washington. An outsider would never conceive of how much effort went into keeping Sir sucked and fucked to his satisfaction. As far as we were concerned, we were providing a public service.

Despite the fact that we all proudly tooled around in virtually identical red Audis, I'd convinced myself that only I knew Sir's secret heart and I solely would be allowed to claim it. Perhaps the subs before me once believed the same thing, but I was special. I was allowed to spend far more time with Sir than the others. Sure, he didn't speak to me, and I was relegated to the corner like a long-forgotten piece of furniture, but accessibility was all I desired. To bask in his presence was all I required. Eventually, the rest would come. I just knew it.

Therefore, I enacted another phase of my plan. I began a subtle tug-of-war between neediness and independence. There seemed to be nothing as fulfilling to Sir as being needed while being able to troubleshoot and problem-solve. The real work was being needy, but not so much that my actions could be construed as greed or clinginess. Those attitudes were Sir's unspoken hard limits.

Since he took me shopping a few times, I'd assumed that this would be a regular practice, but, to my quickly masked disappointment, he never invited me again, as once his contacts had taken my measurements, they no longer needed me for in-person fittings. I worked hard to maintain my physique, afraid to risk anything that might cause Sir to become dissatisfied with me. I even attended pilates with a couple of Sir's former submissives. The diet sheet was my Holy Grail. I even sought out a nutritionist which Sir paid for, nodding his head approvingly at my initiative. Mens sana in corpore sano - A healthy mind in a healthy body was his byword, although how firmly he ascribed to the healthy mind was no-one's guess.

Last week's scene left me wondering what message Master was attempting to convey. He left me bound while he jacked himself off to completion. The song about the hunter getting captured by the game… Was he trying to tell me he'd fallen for me despite the contract? Was he worried about how to approach me? I couldn't let this awful misunderstanding tear us apart.

I regularly presented myself to Mistress for inspection and maintenance. I used almost all the services Esclava had to offer at Sir's expense. Waxing, massage, facials, body wraps, manicures, pedicures, hydration, full body masques and polishing. Sir didn't want to find any evidence of hair on my body (not even fuzz), unless it was my eyebrows, eyelashes or the hair on my head. No landing strips for Sir. He wanted my pussy smooth and accessible with no stray hairs to get caught in the chains and bindings. It was mostly for my benefit, though I was also sure that he appreciated the aesthetic.

Mistress rarely attended me personally, so I felt especially grateful for her setting time aside for my treatment. Sure, she oversaw my overall services and made sure to check on my satisfaction with the contract, but little did I realize that she had weekly scheduled dinners or lunches with Sir. It was never listed on his schedule, but they happened as sure as the rising and setting of the sun. She knew everything and had finally decided to make her move. Her timing, like everything else about her, was impeccable.

First, she carefully assessed my hair and scalp, focusing more on certain areas. She commented stiffly, "You were due for a trim two weeks ago, missy. And you also haven't been using the shampoo and conditioner I recommended. Your hair and scalp are so dry, I could use them for kindling. The gloss you applied might fool some people, but to me it just looks like accelerant."

I winced at her admonition as Mistress only continued her litany of complaints. "You've also been straightening your own hair (badly). Obviously not using the flat-iron I suggested. There's some signs of heat damage, but I can repair some of the it. Shame. I was hoping to put some small highlights in your hair, to really make it pop, but I imagine that's shot to hell," she went on scathingly.

"Sir doesn't want my hair changed," I stupidly interjected.

"Sir likes long, healthy hair that can withstand rigorous pulling and yanking, but I don't see you providing that!" she whispered scathingly in my ear. "You were a couple weeks away from needing hair extensions. Why don't you thank me for rescuing your mane like a good little girl and stop thinking? Confusion does nothing for your complexion."

"Yes, Mistress," I replied lowly, chagrined at her chastisement.

"Look, why don't you just tell me what's really going on?" she asked, inviting me to confide in her. "You're rebellious, talking out of turn, unfocused… Your hair is a mess. This is not a good reflection on me and all I've been doing to help you. Have I been wasting my time?"

"Sir," I began haltingly. "Sir and I are no longer on the same page. I want more and I'm beginning to think he wants more, too, but no matter what I've done, nothing has changed," I confessed, tears of frustration and despair gathering in my eyes. "I don't know what to do," I implored.

"Well, that is a problem, but it doesn't sound like an insurmountable obstacle. The key is to adequately communicate your needs to your Sir. By refusing to express your needs from him, you are denying him true submission. You're playing a game of subterfuge," she stated firmly. "This whole attitude of yours reeks of dishonesty. Trust me. Sir will be most displeased. How long has this been going on?" she inquired clinically, as if she was attempting to solve some complex equation.

"Well, it began a couple months before we reached our first anniversary. I had been with him longer than any other sub," I stated proudly, as she gave me a curious look, head titled in dismay.

"The length of time is not the issue. As long as you are doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, you're going to be doomed to disappointment," she retorted, as she carefully parted my hair, applying some sweetly scented serum to my scalp and locks, thoroughly saturated each area, massaging it in gently. It was warming and invigorating. I relaxed into the chair as she focused on my nape. I had stored up so much tension and I hadn't realized it until I made my confession.

"Leila, I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to be very clear with Sir or you are headed for a world of hurt. If you don't tell him how you feel, you're only cheating yourself out of the rewarding relationship that you can have with him. If you let your courage fail you, you may as well just say good-bye now. Men are simple creatures. They know nothing unless we tell them. Sometimes diagrams may be involved," she stated sagely, lightly bumping my shoulder in a show of solidarity.

"But I'm his sub," I replied glumly, trying to convey my dilemma without appearing desperate.

"…and the sub holds all the power. How did Eleanor put it? No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Besides, as far as BDSM negotiations are concerned, you are equals."

"Oh. Who's Eleanor?"

"Don't you worry your little head about who she is. She's just an old client. Remember what I said. Either put on your big girl panties, or say…"

"Good-Bye," I ended sadly.

"Treatment's done. I'll call Franco to complete your shampoo, condition and trim. Never miss another appointment. Don't make me have to retrieve you from Sir's apartment," she added conspiratorially, with a laugh.

"Thank you for your advice, Mistress," I answered, grateful for her aid.

"No problem. It's what I'm here for."

Walking out of the salon, I briefly wondered why I hardly ever went to the Bravern location. I shook my head. No worries. I need to plan how to explain my needs to Sir.


	9. Chapter 8: Getting Up the Nerve

Once again, I thank Thirst for pre-reading. Sometimes I forget, but I'm always grateful to have another set of eyes go over my work before I hit publish. Sometimes I don't take some of her well-meaning criticism and wind up wanting to kick my own ass.

A/N: I take exception to that. I think Elena gave Leila some fabulous advice. If she wasn't so delusional, clingy, wily, disrespectful, impulsive, masochistic and intent on having things her own way… And if Christian wanted more from her than submission… OK, that's a hell of a lot of ifs.

Besides, I thought you would appreciate all the sex Christian and Elena were having. I think we get so caught up on the physical process of inserting tab A into slot B, that we forget that a major portion of the sex act occurs in the mind.

Thus, at least to me, Christian and Elena are having at least an emotional affair. First, they have WEEKLY lunches or dinners where they routinely discuss the intimacy which occurs with their respective partners. Next, in the IaSS (In a Split Second) universe, they've shared at least some of the same sexual partners, whether either Christian or Elena nails the sub first. They're basically swapping sloppy seconds and they BOTH find this particular aspect of their lives funny and neither one shows any jealousy over it. Also, they're tag teaming his subs for their own amusement. Elena procures the subs. Christian gets sick of them. Elena gives them some advice and BAM! They're gone. If you don't consider that a surrogate form of sex (a _ménage à trois_ by proxy), you've missed the plot.

Why else would Elena go absolutely crackers at the very idea of Anastasia? Because Ana wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. Didn't want to talk, chat, think about, email or be within driving distance of her. Elena couldn't control this new party within her and Christian's unspoken trio and Christian wouldn't share. Elena offered to "train" Anastasia and Christian said no. Did any of you get that from Grey? Essentially with Ana, Christian had broken their unspoken pact.

A fellow author and FB friend, sherryola, writes:

 _"I don't feel any sympathy for Leila. He told her, and even Elena told her, that Christian didn't do hearts and flowers and wouldn't fall in love. And yes, I've fallen for people who didn't love me back. But I've never thought Leila was so much in love as in desire and comfort and security."_

This is true, but there are so many people who have this "I'll make it fit!" mentality and nothing you can do will convince them otherwise. Two words: Caroline Bingley. The school of hard knocks just gives them a 'P' for passing, just for showing up, but they'll never be able to write a thesis or a dissertation about reality. Even when firmly rejected, they merely consider it a setback. What doesn't kill them, (literally) makes them stronger and even more persistent. Leila blatantly ignores facts which do not support her beliefs whilst greedily grasping at straws.

Some readers also wondered why the earlier chapters contained so much Leila-Christian-Elena interaction. Have you ever seen I, Robot? There's a scene in which Dr Lanning says, "Everything that follows is a result of what you see here."

Well, I'm calling ditto. Everything that Leila does in the next chapters is a direct result of what happened in the previous chapters. In canon, we have a Christian who is obsessed with Ana's security, yet has placed almost no emphasis on his own safety. I refuse to believe that his high-caliber, well-paid, ex-military security team didn't make serious attempts to seal all the holes in his security plan.

However, he stifles them at every turn because he believes he's invincible. He forbid his security to carry firearms, but BILLIONAIRE! He's risking their lives to prove a point and to make Grace feel good. Isn't it interesting that the first time we hear about a safe room is AFTER Ana and Christian were married? Christian became far more serious about security once he had someone to lose.

* * *

Mistress Lincoln left me with much food for thought. As soon as Franco finished with me, I left the salon to head back to my apartment. Had all of my cooking lessons and Pilates been for nothing? Had I failed to perform to Master's standards because I had taken so much upon myself and neglected my duties to him?

I'd devoted the past year to learning everything that pleased him. Cooking his favorite French dishes, attending workshops where I studied the fine art of vaginal and anal fisting and relaxation methods. Erotic massage and caning classes. Everything I knew Master liked.

Spending less and less time in my apartment to combat the between weekends, I began to shop far more than usual, though I hardly remembered purchasing most of the items in my closet. Though my fridge was stocked with healthy choices according to Master's list, I was appalled to learn that the groceries cost almost a quarter of my paycheck. Everything had to be high in minerals, vitamins, antioxidants, and certified organic. And all the meats had to be low in fat and very lean. I was glad we lived in Seattle, because I could easily reach the fish market on my way home from work. He even had a favorite water! But I bit the bullet and made sure that I adhered to His fucking list!

Since Master preferred anal, I received regular colonics. After one awful episode of accidental scat, I insured that experience would never be repeated. I was relieved visits to Esclava were gratis, because otherwise they would've financially crippled me. As it was, I often found ways to return some of the things Master bought me for a cash refund or in-store credit. While Master was very generous if he knew someone had a need, it wouldn't have been smart to let him know how close I was to losing my apartment on a monthly basis. While I was more than welcome on the weekends, Master wasn't running a boarding house.

I adhered so closely to all of his guidelines and suggestions, while financially extending myself, because I saw it as a temporary setback and an investment toward the future. See, if I hung on long enough, and made myself indispensable, eventually I'd wear him down like water on stone. It was inevitable. Master was generous to all of his subs, but he'd provide an embarrassment of riches to his woman. I saw it all the time. A sidepiece might get an apartment or a car from a man, but wives and girlfriends got homes they shared and real security. I wanted to be the one on his arm and gracing his bed. If I kept Master satisfied, I'd be treated like a queen.

I wouldn't be the nameless, fatherless brat to a teen mother who died while giving birth in a trailer home. I was adopted, but my parents always let me know where I came from. I might've loved them for their honesty had they not furnished all the dirty details after I'd been assigned a family tree project, and ensuring I added a dashed line to show our adoptive relationship. Master, along with his two siblings, was adopted, but his parents proudly claimed them all. If Master chose me, I could be a Grey, too. And with that, no doors would be closed to me. No longer would I be left on the outside looking in. All I had to so was hold on…

Mistress Elena had stupidly handed me the last piece of the puzzle. It had never occurred to me that my plan had borne fruit so soon. And if Master's very good friend was suggesting that I step up, Master must have confided his feelings for me to her!

My room in his apartment had been designed completely to my tastes, even down to the crystal chandelier and sumptuous canopy bed. He didn't care about the decor, or the cost, only that it was kept neat and tidy. He hardly ever saw it, unless he was depositing my boneless, sated body into my bed. He didn't care about the satin sheets, though I appreciated them. Everything there was better than my apartment. But most of all, I loved that the room was just for me. In some ways, it felt more like home than anywhere else I had ever lived, even if I stayed less than thirty percent of the time.

Having the codes to his palace in the sky was extremely empowering. So was tooling around in the car he bought me, while wearing the clothes he paid for. I had never been so cherished. That's why I had to fight to remain at his side. No-one would ever, ever take care of me as good as Master, and I was going to please him so well he wouldn't consider turning me loose.

I had been doing the same thing, expecting a different result, but all that had bought me was time, which I haven't been using wisely if my conversation with Mistress was anything to go by. According to her, I was dishonoring Master by withholding my thoughts and feelings.

But when did I actually have time to express anything of the sort? When I was bound and gagged? While at dinner, when I knew better than to break the silence? Disturbing him while he was working? Fuck, I'd have to make an appointment with his fucking work wife, Andrea, the bitch! He's always talking to her on the phone or receiving texts. I didn't like it.

The first thing I wanted to do when Master and I took our relationship to the next level is make him fire her. I don't like that she takes so much of his attention. More than a few weekends he left town on "business trips" soon after she called. There had to be a correlation. He said he was monogamous in all his relationships, but I've been fucked around on before. I knew the signs.

I planned to jettison Mistress Elena too, as soon as I had him locked down. Though she helped me a lot, she was extra. Dealing with her was like having two Doms at the same time. Hours after speaking with her, I always sensed that she had been talking down to me. Though I chalked most of her attitude up to her being a Dominatrix, I still didn't like it. Once I told Master how mean she had been to me, he would get rid of her like that! It wasn't like he would be needing her to find him anymore subs.

And once I started thinking about the subs from the Sub Club, I got pissed all over again. While they served as a great source of intel about Master's likes, dislikes and habits, I was pissed at their existence. It's all fun and games until one of those bitches talks about how he touched them, what they consumed on those rare occasions when Sir allowed them to eat with him, or what powerful orgasms he unleashed on their willing bodies. They would have no place at all under my new regime. The thought of spending any more time with whores who'd fucked my Master was intolerable. They laughed and joked about serving Sir as if it was a sub's ultimate rite of passage and a springboard to other contracts.

This concept bothered me because while I was prepared physically for a long-term relationship with Master, I was sure that I couldn't sustain the appearance of submission full-time. It would be too easy to slip up in a relationship based around 24-7 total power exchange. So not only would I have to ask Master for an official relationship, I'd also be asking for a complete overhaul of the one we presently had. And I wasn't sure how Master would take my request to convert my weekend submission to kinky vanilla.

Suddenly, my heart squeezed in apprehension. This was all happening too fast, but I realized if I missed this window, it might not ever open again. Master wasn't known for handing out second chances, so I was going to reach out and grab this one with both hands. And maybe I'd rethink Elena's advice for complete transparency. Judicious bits of truth sparingly sprinkled as we went would be perfect. I would start by asking for more. However, he didn't need to know that more meant everything just yet.


End file.
